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I"m stuck between many worlds. As I open up my pirated version of word, my mind blurs with the distinctions of what I was, who I am now, and who I aspire to be. I grew surrounded by dirt and land. Was part of a broken then reformed family of six. Whenever we went out to eat, it was quick and silent. TV was the distract they partook in every day after work. Every time I saw them, I would ask what was new. They always had the same answer. Conversation that did occur was void of concepts, ideas, or current events. I may recall this in a terrible tone, but nothing is wrong with this lifestyle. It is simple. Too simple for ambitions I held. I wanted to go to college, go further in life than anyone in my family has.
Now I have crabs with coworkers, discussing intricacies of molecular genetics. They morph under differing situations. Say one thing, but really mean something else, yet say it a certain way so the listener becomes biased. Conversely, everything you say is who you are. They never rest. I swear one guy never sleeps. They post pictures in good lighting with candid shots of friends. They drink lightly and hold composure under every circumstance. They go to socials, with their day having complexity and variety. It seems exhausting. The image they hold is an end in itself. Life for them is the image they portray, it seems.
In The Grey, with Liam Neeson, he flies on a plane that plummets to the arctic surface. Flashes occur and the screen goes black. Yet before regaining consciousness, he has a vision of his recently deceased wife. Lying together in bed, he slowly strokes her face; weakly grinning. Then reality rips him away, contrasting with a dilapidated plane and a man slowly bleeding out from his gut.
I don"t understand why, but I wholly empathize with this movie. One part strikes me the most:
A job at the end of the world. A salaried killer for a big petroleum company. I don't know why I did half the things I've done, but I know this is where I belong, surrounded by my own. Ex-cons, fugitives, drifters, assholes. Men unfit for mankind.
I was a trouble-maker in the past. School suspensions, house arrests, a good year on probation. I am fugitive. In the same frame, I see an excellent student, graduated cum laude from college, working at a prestigious research lab. I don"t talk to people about my past. Ironically, they smoke copious amounts of weed, the main cause for all my criminal history. They even use a fancy vaporizer.
As a child, I desired to experience every aspect of life. I wanted to be the hick, the jock, the popular kid, the druggy, the hippy, the geek, the studious nerd. Not all at the same time, but sequentially become them, forming new friends along the way. These prototypes are silly to me now, but the concept still holds. As a consequence of this self-induced anthropological study, I lost who I really am. Who the fuck am I?
Environment influences your personality. Friends impact your interests. I was plucked and ripped from so many different environments, I think I lost the core of who I am.
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